It’s getting harder to hold my head up and smile. Being here is grueling. I’m thankful that I did not have the worst-case scenario, but I still know that I’m fighting something pretty big.
There are three teams of doctors from different areas — oncology, infectious disease, and surgery — who come in to see me several times a day. Since the problem seems to be Infectious Disease, the ID team has taken charge.
Yesterday, they took a sample from one of my lesions to culture. The results come back in 24 to 36 hours, so later today or tomorrow. The kind of infection I have — the possibilities run the gamut, so yesterday, they moved me into an Isolation Room.
Me in isolation seems an oxymoron. The room is actually is so technologically advanced that it has negative air flow, meaning that when someone opens the door, the air from the inside of my room does not go out. Everyone who comes in has to wear full garb — a gown and mask. It reminds me of that scene from the movie E.T.
I will have a CT Scan of my chest, abdomen and pelvis today at 2 p.m. Please pray that somehow, someway, those tumors in my lungs are gone. That would turn all of this around. I’d still have to heal from this infection, of course, but it would be real and amazing progress in my battle with breast cancer.
As for when I’m going home: Well, now it’s looking like Thursday or Friday. While I know how important it is to be here where they can take good care of me and do what needs to be done, I hate it.
I have an annual tradition with my bff Marnie Leonard Fender. Every year, we take our boys to the 4H Fair. Today was the day. I’m so sad as I look out the window at the bright sunshine, missing my boy, my husband, my life.
Last night, when Don and Theo pulled into the hospital parking lot, Theo said to Don, “Isn’t the hospital a place where people die?” And Don explained to him that while that is true, it is also a place where people get better, and Mommy would be one of those people.
I cry a lot. Lack of sleep — always someone poking, prodding, hanging bags of antibiotics, taking blood, administering a shot, taking you for a test. It is said that it is hard to get rest in the hospital and that is true. I think it’s the accumulation of all the months of chemo endured so far, with this blip just the icing on the cake. It is difficult. Most of all, I miss my little boy and my hubby, the sounds and smells and feel of home, a run for soft-serve or a boat ride.
Praying for miraculous results from my CT Scan today and also, that they figure out WHAT the infection is and that I can go home very soon.
Copyright 2011, Amy Rauch Neilson